


Shorts

by Mikkymoo



Category: 9 (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 8,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikkymoo/pseuds/Mikkymoo
Summary: juuuust a collection of stitchpunk OC stuff. mostly for friends.





	1. Machine Awakened: Rust ver

The doll could only stare in shock as the machine began to rise, a talisman having just been inserted into a port. They looked around beside them, seeing their friends, all in as much horror as they themselves were, and… their friend, the one no one else could see. Rust. He was in terror. He wasn’t supposed to be terrified, he was supposed…  
The machine turned it’s eye to them. No, not to them…  
To directly beside them. _Rust._  
He couldn’t move as one of its claws came down, grabbing him. They could hear him screaming their name, _Patchwork_ , screaming to _run_ , to _hide_ , to do _something_ other than stare. Patchwork didn’t even know if their friends could see him, or if they just saw the machine holding nothing.  
And then there was only green, the same colour as Rust appeared to be to them, the colour enveloped him as the talisman opened and he was sucked into it. Patchwork barely felt the others grabbing at them, felt themselves being dragged away, all they could do was stare as the machine looked at them.  
It was looking directly at Patchwork.


	2. Machine Awakened: Patchwork ver

No. No he couldn't believe this. Not here. Not with Patchie here.  
Rust could only stare as the machine awoke, silently cursing the stitchpunk that woke it with the talisman. He couldn't move. This was... this was awful, it was horrible, why did this have to happen here, why here, why-  
He saw the claw reach for Patchwork as they stood, and he could do _nothing_ to stop it. He could only stare as they were brought to the talisman, the realization that they were about to _die_ apparently only now striking them as they screamed-  
And abruptly went silent in a flash of green.  
_He could have warned them._  
He couldn't have known.  
_He could have told them to run._  
No one could, it wasn't his-  
**It was his fault**

He felt the machine grab him, not thinking about how it could have affected him as a... sort of spirit thing. He was limp. This was his fault. _All his fault..._  
The world went bright with a flash of green, and then nothing.


	3. Hidden Away

Inside a small home, with a multitude of dollhouses acting as a small neighborhood within, two dolls were arguing.

"You just expect the others to stay _here?!_   That, that THING got in here, there's gotta be a way for it to get out! We can-" The first stitchpunk, a slightly smaller one with bright red yarn-like hair pulled int a messy ponytail, said, and was quickly cut off by the other, a lightr colored doll wearing ribbons of turquoise around his neck and wrists.

"We are _staying here._ Our creator kept us here for a reason, we can't go out there! That creature came from outside, we're not going to FOLLOW IT!!! That's idiocy!!" He sighed. "Redhead, you're young, you don't know him, you never met him and... he wants us to stay here. We have to follow our creator's orders."

Redhead groaned, running off. She'd find a way out, he knew it. Maybe then she'd learn that the outside world was dangerous. Fascinating, perhaps, but dangerous. Would knock her temper down a peg, perhaps...

* * *

Two stitchpunks watched the redheaded one run off. The lighter one, holding a few strange hand puppets, smiled. "Outside... that sounds nice..." His voice was rather scratchy, as if it hadn't been used in a while.

"Well, if he says we stay, we have to... don't think she'll like that though." The other replied, fidgeting with a small blue patch on his arm. "Always loved order."

A roar rang throughout the group of houses. "Well. Guess there's... something." The other doll grinned wildly. "Kitty. It's a kitty!" He burst into laughter. "Kitty kitty cat monster..."

With a scream, the redheaded doll charged, grabbing a sharpened stick as a weapon. The 'leader' sighed. "Out of the frying pan with that one..."

And into the fire.


	4. Please Don't Go

The beast lay at his feet, parts flung around in disarray. The doll, recently nicknamed 'Catnip' due to his unfortunate luck with encountering these beasts, raised his foot to kick a piece of metal... when the sound of ragged breath stopped him. He turned to see Redhead, a doll named for her bright red hair, lying next to the beast's head. 

Her leg was horribly mangled. The foot was gone entirely, torn wires sparking even as she struggled to desperately repair herself. "Cat, Catnip how bad is it, p-please tell me how bad this is." Her voice was quivering, and she looked up at him with a sad grin. "Don't lie to me. It's bad, isn't it?"

Catnip couldn't speak, he just ran to her, trying to lift her, carry her to at least give them a chance of making it back home, but stopped when she cried out in pain. "C-Catnip please it, it hurts, oh god it hurts why does i-it hurt!"

"Red, Red please, we're gonna make it back, we're gonna get Puppet, he can help, he-" Catnip stammered. He knew just by looking at her that he couldn't make it in time even if it was just the leg that was hurt. From the tears along her back it looked like the beast had mangled internal wiring there as well. "Y-You're gonna be alright..."

"I t-told you. I told you not.. not to lie to me." Redhead said, dragging herself up so she was supporting herself with her elbows. "I-I can't-" She gasped, falling back to the ground.

Catnip shook, kneeling down and gently lifting her up. "Red I..." He couldn't bring himself to finish. If he could cry he would almost certainly be doing so. "I'm so, so sorry, I could have stopped this, I-" Redhead shushed him, her voice soinding a little fainter. "I was reckless, it's not, no your fault." She smiled. "I saved you... It's not all in vain, at least... please don't leave me here..."

The two lay in silence, as the mechanical noises from Redhead grew fainter and fainter. Catnip never moved. He wouldn't leave her. Not here. Not alone.

* * *

The two others of his group found him a day later, still cradling the dead stitchpunk's corpse. His only response was that he 'couldnt just leave her there.' Couldn't leave her alone...


	5. Delirium

Why was everything fuzzy?

The stitchpunk smiled to himself, crawling over to his discarded and torn backpack. Some puppets hung out both the flap that served as the opening and the gashes torn into it. Some were torn apart, but that didn’t matter, he could fix them all eventually! He just needed to find that sewing needle, it was usually in his bag, did he leave it at home?

He grinned. Ah, he’d just have to get himself home. Redhead did that a lot, and he was able to sew her wounds so well that they were barely even visible! He’d had a lot of practice, she gave him lots of time to work. He began to try to stand but found his legs wouldn’t support him. Ah, everything was fuzzy again, he’d have to fix his head too! Funny, his legs were hurting quite a bit.

He could hear footsteps and looked up. Oh, Clone! He was here, he could get him back home, no worries! He tried to speak, though it came out strangely garbled, and his chest began to hurt, the fuzziness in his head growing. Need… to fix that too…

Why was he getting so tired? He had more than enough energy before… maybe a quick nap… where were the other two… and why was Clone looking so upset..?


	6. Prophet

From the moment she woke, he knew she’d be special… aside from the third eye, of course.  
The doll was small, though already had a sense of wonder about the world. He smiled, looking down at her. “Hey there…”  
The doll looked up at him, and smiled. “Father!”  
He certainly wasn’t expecting that. He knew she was a part of him but… this? He… he could work with this. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?

As the days went on, they grew closer, becoming almost like father and child, though the doll’s creator always had a sense of nervousness. He didn’t know how to handle this, and the stress only grew as a war started between man and machines of ‘peace.’ He would disappear, sometimes for days, but the doll didn’t mind. He’d given her clothes to cover herself when she had woken up, and had always told her that he’d be back soon, so why did she have to worry!  
Soon they moved to a small church, and the doll spent hours looking around the building, searching through all the nooks and crannies. She seemed fascinated by the bells, and was overjoyed when her father gave her a string of sleigh bells to play with. One day, her father had gone out to meet some friends, and hadn’t come back when he said he’d be home.  
The doll peered out of a half-broken window. A thick mist covered the land, looking a strange green color. Maybe he’d gotten lost? Must have been that, the fog looked too thick to see too well through, she’d have to stay here so he didn’t think she’d gotten lost!!

If she had looked down, she’d have seen the body of a man, hands still reaching for the doorknob even as he lay dead on the ground…  
...but she didn’t.


	7. Visitor?

Prophet sighed, reaching up for the sleigh bells hanging from a small beam of wood. She began to shake the bells back and forth, ringing them as she had done for… she didn’t remember how long. Hopefully her Father would hear them, he might find his way home!

After a few minutes of ringing the bells, she stopped. He'd have to come home any day now, she made him promise, he'd never-

There was a soft knocking noise from the large door that served as the entrance to the church she lived in. Oh! Was her father home? It must be him, she never knew anyone else! She pushed at the door, and it came open with a few good shoves.

The doll looked up, the smile fading from her face. It was… another doll, it’s face blank save for an open mouth and blank, black eyes. She smiled a little. “Oh, uh, hello! Are you-“

The stranger’s eyes lit up, and Prophet was silenced.


	8. Hello, Little One

A stitchpunk walked through the wasteland, her cape-like hood pulled over her head as she did, careful not to tear or step on her long dress as she did. So focused she was, that she didn’t notice two almost identical stitchpunks nearby until one, with a small C on his chest, planted a cane onto her cape, yanking her to a stop.

“Heya kid, what’s the rush?” He said, with a crooked grin.

“Oh, I’m looking for my creator, have you seen him?” She asked, looking up at him. He was much taller than she was…

“Nope! Sorry little lady… you shouldn’t be hurrying along so fast though, you’re missing so many wonderous things!” The taller doll grabbed her by the hand, leading her away, through a small tunnel that looked to be made of stained glass. She gasped, unable to look away from the colors.

She was so entranced that she didn’t notice the other stitchpunk until he’d shoved a magnet onto her head, and by that point all she could do was fall asleep from the magnet.

“Easy as pie.” Her ‘friend’ laughed. “Alrighty Maxwell you get the kid in the thing and I’ll take it from here!”

* * *

When she woke up, she acutely knew two things.

A: She couldn’t move.

B: There was something coming towards her.

C: She was in so, so much danger.


	9. Hello, Little One pt. 2

Prophet didn’t really know how long she was there for. From what she could tell from lying face-down on the ground, it was getting dark. How long had that stitchpunk planned on leaving her here...?

Then came the hissing. She recognized it almost immediately. A Seamstress. She froze, praying that it wouldn’t come near, that maybe it’d just go away. The sound grew closer. It had probably seen her.

It was almost on top of her by the time she managed to roll over onto her back. It reared up, about to strike… when a net was thrown over it, pinning the beast, at least for a few seconds.

She felt herself being picked up, slung over someone’s shoulder. A stitchpunk, almost identical to the one she’d met before save for an M instead of a C on his chest, leaped down from a pile of rubble at the pinned seamstress, laughing with almost maniacal glee. She stared as long as she could until he was out of sight, then maneuvered herself to see whoever was carrying her. It was that same stitchpunk she’d seen before.

“Sorry sweetie.” He said, smiling a little. “Just business.” Prophet nodded a little, too stunned to speak. After a little, she was placed down, and the stranger took her hood off, tinkering a bit with the inside of her head.

“Magnet ended up doing a bit of a number on you, think it paralyzed you a little, I can probably… there we are!” He grinned. Prophet moved her arm a little, feeling movement return. “Who…?”

“Oh, I’m Charlie, little one. Now, run along now.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “I need to make sure my brother’s got the beast covered.”

With that, Prophet pulled her hood back on and ran, not needing to be told twice. This whole thing felt like one of her storybooks… at least this one had a bit of a happy ending.


	10. Chapter 10

How long had it been?

Tempo didn't know how long she'd sat in this cage. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? The dimness of the empty room held no answer. Only the withering of the hand poking out from the hallway showed her how long she'd been here.

Every day she sang a song of distress, hoping someone would hear. Maybe someone would take the key from the corpse's hand, from her creator's hand, and release her... until then, all she could do was try to get someone's attention.

It felt hopeless most of the time.

Lonely.

Was anyone coming? She hoped someone was. She didn't know what she'd do if she was left here, on this birdcage on a desk. Maybe she could pick the lock? Break it? Knock the cage off the desk? That last one would probably just trap her on the floor instead of doing anything helpful. There was a chance it could break that lock, though...

Maybe another day.

Someone had to come eventually...

Right?


	11. Freedom?

She had to do it.

There wasn't exactly another option. She was going to knock the cage off in the hopes that she'd hit hard enough to break it open. So what if it didn't work, at least she'd be closer to the ground in case someone couldn't get up to the desk! What's the worst that could happen!

She readied herself, then ran at a side of the desk closest to the edge, rattling the cage a bit. She ignored the dull pain in her shoulder as she hit it again, over and over and over again. It was almost over the edge, she could get out, she could-!

It fell, and in the second that it was in the air she realized that this was a horrible mistake.

The cage slammed against the ground, taking the doll with it. She was flung against the bars, the edge of one managing to tear at the fabric of her arm. She cried out a note of panic, and turned to the lock on the door.

It hadn't broken. Nothing had been done except denting the cage a bit, not letting it roll. Her heart fell, almost like the cage had.

She sang, and this time it wasn't just a song of rescue. It had notes of fear, pain, panic, sorrow, anger, all coiled together into music.

_Please._

_Please help. Please find me. I don't want to be alone._


	12. Chapter 12

Her creator should be back soon, Tempo thought. They're always home right about now.

They sat in the birdcage, swinging idly from the swing hung from the top. She liked this, made her feel secure, though her creator always locked it 'just in case something tried to get into it.' She didn't mind. After all, she was made of cloth, there was a bit of a reason to be concerned that a cat or something would try to take a swipe at her thinking she was a toy. 

Tempo grinned as she heard the front door swing open. Ah, they were home!

A green mist seeped from the almost closed windows, and she heard her creator start to cough. What was that? Was that bad? Hopefully they were okay.

She could see her creator now, or at least a part of them, fall to the floor, the key to her cage in their hand. The doll waited for the human to get up, to walk over and let her out... As their coughing started to cease, she grew hopeful. Maybe this was just them getting sick! When they didn't get up and the coughs stopped, she grew worried. She began to sing, a call to her creator, asking if they were okay...

* * *

It'd been at least an hour, and her creator hadn't moved a muscle. Hadn't unlocked the door.

Her worry soon grew to panic, as she realized she couldn't get out, couldn't figure out what was wrong, didn't realize that no one would be coming to help her.

Another song began to be sung, this one a plea for help.

 

Nobody came.


	13. Chapter 13

A stitchpunk wandered about the wasteland, softly singing to herself as she did. She came upon... a cave? It was shelter enough for her, she thought. Maybe a home for the next few days.

She entered, looking around. There was string on the walls? White string, tied to posts. Huh. What could have-

The doll fell into a hole with a shriek, string tangling around her limbs, leaving her hanging a few inches above the ground. A soft tittering was heard as another stitchpunk came into view, and the trapped doll let out a small squeak of surprise. This newcomer was rather strange, to say the least.

Their legs were the most obvious differences, as they did not have two, but four legs. Their arms were normal, but on their back was two spike-like appendages. Finally, their eyes. All eight of them were tinted red. "Oh, hello dearie!" They smiled, displaying fangs. "You've fallen into my web, I see?"

She nodded, singing a few notes of annoyance. "Oh, you look so plain, darling! What should I call you... how about Note, that's a nice name for a singing one like you, isn't it? I'm Omega, lovely to meet you!" The spiderpunk grinned as 'Note' nodded. She started to climb up the wall, her spikes stabbing into notches in the wall specifically made for them. With a few cuts, the string fell away, freeing 'Note'.

She got up, Omega climbing down. "Hope you'll stay, dear. It's so lonely here... oh, the exit's that way!" She motioned to the left. "Feel free to stay! Or leave, you can if you want." 

'Note' shrugged. Well, it couldn't hurt to stay here a little.


	14. Band

“Creator, creator, look!”

The man smiled, turning away from the window he was looking out of. The world was strangely peaceful around here. Well, except for the small brown doll holding up a shiny stone. “Look, I found another one!”

He nodded, taking the stone and slipping it into a pocket. “Creation, it’s… it’s time I give you a name. From this day onwards, s time I give you a name. From this day onwards, you shall be known as Band.” The formerly unnamed doll puffed his chest out with pride. The human chuckled to himself a little. So much like himself…

From his left hand, he slipped off a ring, holding it fondly. A wedding band made of gold with four red gemstones placed on the metal. How he’d love to see her again, to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay…

He tied a small string around the ring, placing it around Band’s neck. “Protect this with your life, okay?” He asked. Band nodded. “Of course, creator! Is uh, is there anything else I can do?”

“Turn around and be still.” He asked, and the doll complied. With a small pair of scissors, he cut the threads holding Band’s head closed, poking into the mechanics before finding a small switch. He activated it, and Band fell to the floor, seeming as though he had never woken at all. Hibernation mode. A wise choice, as far as preserving his soul went.

The man picked up the doll, sewing his head back up and setting him on a small desk next to diagrams depicting him. He’d know all he needed to know when he woke up.

Now on to the other three.


	15. Meetings

Band awoke on a small table, shaking off a small cloud of dust as he stood. He could hear a peculiar noise that he couldn’t quite place as he looked around. There was something moving in the farthest corner of the room… and a strange doll a few steps away from him.

“H… Hello?” Band called out. “Who are you? I’m uh, Band!” yes, his name was band, he remembered that. The other doll, looking a lot older than him, at least by design, stirred.

“Huh..? Wha… Who are you?” He laughed. “Oh, you already said that. Aspirin. Plea…” The new doll trailed off, optics flicking to the thing in the corner.

A machine.

It seemed to be multi-colored, one eye a cartoony googly-eye, the other a menacing red orb. Its body was covered in limbs and blades and sticking out of its mouth was another doll. A large doll, one who only now seemed to be waking up. He started to scream, and Band realized what that noise he’d heard was. Grinding.

Aspirin jumped off the table an instant after Band had realized what the noise was, grabbing a pencil as an impromptu weapon. He charged, stabbing into the machine’s side and narrowly avoiding blades on its side.

It screamed, releasing the stitchpunk in a cloud of broken metal and cloth. Band gasped, jumping down, and running to him. “Oh creator no this can’t, this…” The doll was missing his legs. All that was left was two broken stumps of metal. “This, this is bad, this is very very bad…”

“G… Goliath.” The large stitchpunk managed to croak out. “My name, my name is Goliath.”

Band nodded. “Goliath, Goliath okay, we’re, you’re gonna be okay, please don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay…”

The machine let out another scream, and fled, Aspirin yelling after it. “Yeah!! You run, you sock puppet!!” He grinned, turning to the other two, and his face fell as he saw Goliath. “My god… My god that’s got to be painful.” The older doll walked to Goliath’s head, pushing the pencil’s end between the threads securing the fabric, tearing them. “You won’t live long being conscious, too much strain on your electronics… there we are.” He flipped a switch, and Goliath went limp. “He’ll be out for… who knows how long.”

“What was-“ Band began, being shushed by Aspirin. “Our creator installed a switch in our heads that shuts us off for, ah, give or take a century.” He shrugged. “Read that off a design for me, at least.” Band looked at Goliath. He should fix him. He needed to fix him. How could he fix him… “Hey, can you-“ “Build? Yes. Get me the parts, and I can fix him up.”

Band grinned. This. This he could do.


	16. Chapter 16

Band huffed, the rope he was pulling feeling heavier with every movement. Well, the rope was attached to some sort of machine with a propeller, so he could be forgiven for being a bit weak here.

Soon he managed to pull it inside and truly investigate it. A wonderous creation that could fly using propellers and might even be able to be modified with enough determination and hard work. He grinned. It was too dangerous to go outside and find parts for Goliath’s repairs, and this would help. This would help so, so much.

“Hey Gloves, what- what in god’s name is THAT?” Aspirin called from on the table where he’s moved Goliath. “Is that one of those machines, why did you bring it inside?!”

Band laughed. “Come on Band-Aid, it’s dead! I’m salvaging it! And don’t call me Gloves, I’m not wearing those!”

“I’ll stop when I’m not Band-Aid anymore…” He grumbled, but there was a faint hint of a smile on his face. “Now, what’re ya doing with that machine besides ‘salvaging’ it?”

“Ah, now THIS is where the magic happens!” Band smiled, waving his hands. “See that machine? If I can tweak some wires, I might connect it to, one second…” He ran under the desk, coming out with what looked to be a handheld controller. “This! If I can control it with this, maybe add some things, we could grab parts with it! Just think of where we could go! What we could use, what we could grab and take back home! Getting those parts is gonna be a piece of cake!!”

Aspirin just smiled, shaking his head. “Ah, alright. But don’t bring that thing up here! It’s hard enough listening to you ramble all day without you flying that thing around my head, knocking things over. Now leave me be, need to work on Goliath in peace!”

Band nodded. “Alrighty!” And he ran to the machine. Oh the plans he had for this… this’d be fun.


	17. Chapter 17

They’d been wandering alone for days. No one wanted to stay with them. Patchwork looked down at their hands, shaking a little. They all were scared, scared of their eyes, their hands, they were just scary and they couldn’t fix it!!

They could hear Rust, hear him trying to comfort them, but they blocked him out. He didn’t understand. He could never, he couldn’t talk to anyone else, no one could see him, he was happy the way he was, he could never know how they felt!! Never knew how to…

How to get rid of this.

They kept walking, coming to what looked to be… a beartrap? Some sort of broken beast using that as a mouth… They had an idea. It’d only take a few moments and they’d be free of the things that others were scared of, it was great!

They placed both hands between the teeth of the beartrap, ignoring the yelling from Rust. It was only background noise, like rushing water. This was a perfect idea. They had to do this or no one would like them. They **had** to do this.

They managed to reach the plate, and pushed against it. The trap’s jaws slammed down. In the instant they were in motion, Patchwork realized how horrible of an idea this was-

**_Snap._ **

* * *

**Pain.**

Nothing remained but pain.

The remains of their hands felt like fire. All they could do was curl up on the ground in agony, pulling their arms to their chest. It hurt, it hurt so much, it wasn’t supposed to hurt, why did it hurt so much…

Ghostly hands attempted to comfort the other, to ease their pain in some way, but all Rust could do was tell Patchwork that it’d be okay. Why did they think of this, why did they want this…

All they could feel was pain and sorrow.


	18. Chapter 18

The stitchpunk had been walking by the river for what seemed like hours. He knew he was being dramatic, the little cart they had had a watch on it and he’d only been walking 10 minutes!

Sounds from the river drew his attention. One of the plastic bags he’d laid across the river to catch debris was… moving? He pulled it out of the water for a better look.

He saw… a stitchpunk? No, no, that wasn’t the right word for her. She wasn’t a normal stitchpunk, most didn’t have… tails. Her burlap, a lovely lavender color, seemed almost scaly, and where her legs should be there was a shimmering tail. A mermaid, he’d read about them from myths and legends, but never…

“Hello?” He said hesitantly. The mermaid doll looked up at him, purple hairs being brushed away. “I’m, I’m sorry about this, I usually set this up for spare parts and never-“

She laughed. “You’re flustered?” She said. “That’s… cute on you. Who are you, stranger?”

“…Screw.” He said. She nodded.

Her name was Violet.

 

* * *

 

Every day, at dusk, they visited each other at the river. They’d found a small tidepool-like area where the water was calm enough that Screw could climb onto a rock and speak with her freely. It… it felt nice. He hadn’t seen a fellow stitchpunk in ages, but he felt…

He couldn’t call this love, could he? No, only humans had felt that, he couldn’t feel that.

At least he thought.

 

* * *

 

He was late.

He ran down the riverbed, ducking past branches and climbing the occasional rock. He was just about to turn a corner to the pool when he heard something. A triumphant roar.

A beast’s roar.

He arrived just in time to see a cat beast running away… and the violet scraps of fabric in the water.

He knew what'd happened. He should have been faster. He should have been there. He **_should have saved her_** -

...

Is this what loss feels like?


	19. Chapter 19

The doll’s vision, until he blacked out, was a mess of colors, greys, browns, blacks, the occasional tan, and then, black…

 

He awoke in a bed, an older doll peering down at him, their mismatched eyes looking down at him with concern.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I’ve told you to always be careful in the wasteland but- hey!” He tried to get up, though was easily pushed down as his leg refused to support him. “30, please, you need to rest, your leg-”

“31, I need to go out, you know this. I was so close, maybe today I could have found her-” He was cut off by a hand against his mouth. 

“30. Please. You can look for 35 tomorrow. We can’t risk losing you, not when we’ve already lost so much to the beasts.” 31’s eyes glanced at their leg, at the blade that had replaced their torn off leg. “Don’t worry. She’s fine, I know it. Anna wouldn’t make her weak, not like…”

30 reached up, placing a hand on 31’s cheek. “Oh, come one, you’re not weak. Don’t put yourself down like that. You weren’t used to combat, you couldn’t have known what would happen when you went out with the others.”

“But you did! You knew, we would have been dead if not for you, why did-” 31 cut themselves off, wiping at their optics as if there were tears there. “You left us, why did you run when Anna created you?”

He sighed. “You had the comfort of your creator being with you. I didn’t. As much as I regret it, I ran because I was scared. Even the others, 32, 33, 34, they had you. I didn’t have anyone… and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t regret not knowing her.”

31 nodded, placing a hand on 30’s head and gently pushing him back down onto the bed. “Rest. 33 will be here in a moment to patch you up, and we both know how painful that can be sometimes.

He smiled, closing his eyes and falling asleep rather quickly. 31 sighed, and walked out of the room, limping slightly due to the blade of their leg not being as dexterous as an actual leg. A slightly smaller stitchpunk, one with the number ‘33’ on their chest, watched them leave, entering the room with some thread and a needle shortly after.  _ Prepare for operation. _


	20. Left Brain Right Brain

They remembered the exact moment they woke up.

It was a shock, a sudden start as they opened their eyes, seeing the world for the first time. They felt the air on their fabric... and a strange cord at the base of their neck, connecting to... a friend?

The other, a brighter, red doll, like them except with a different color and an 'R' on their chest, was just waking up as well. They looked at the other, taking in their bluish color and the 'L' on their chest.

"Hello? Who are you?" The blue one asked. "I'm... well judging by this letter I think I'm L. You're R, correct?" R nodded. "Do you speak, R?" Another nod. Apparently they weren't talkative. Oh well, L could do the talking for them.

"Well, R, we should probably get going, this place looks like it could collapse at-" They were interrupted by an explosion shaking the house they were in, causing the floorboards to creak as if they'd fall apart.

"...r-right!" R said. Ah, they speak! "Let's go!!"

* * *

"R!! R stay behind me!!" L yelled. There were soldiers, they didn't know how they knew what those people were called but there were lots of them, they almost got crushed several times. They looked to be fighting machines, though the two dolls had no idea why. Definitely were big, they had to stay away from those.

A foot came down on the cord connecting the two, slamming them to the ground and causing R to cry out in pain. "N-Note to self; that HURTS." L stammered, pulling themselves to their feet and grabbing R. "We need to move, come on!!"

As they ran they noticed a strange green mist spreading, causing soldiers to fall and not get up. R clung to L's arm as they slowed, not much moving around them.

"Are they..." R mumbled, dread filling them. Something happened. Something horrible, why weren't they moving?

"R I'm, I'm sure they're fine. Th-They'll probably be up in a moment! Come on, we need to find shelter, this place isn't safe." L replied, tugging R along, shuddering a little. They knew the soldiers were definitely not fine, but they weren't just gonna tell R that. They'd grown fond of those weird big guys, that'd crush them! Better to be on the safe side... though how long they could keep that lie up was probably about 3 days judging by how many fallen there were.

No matter. They had to find shelter.

That was all that was important.


	21. Source, Sink

L said they shouldn’t go into that house. R didn’t listen.

L knew it was dangerous. R didn’t.

It was both a surprise and not when part of the house collapsed. They fell. But it wasn’t the fall that hurt them, not at all. It was the sharp piece of wood at the bottom inbetween them.

 

“...R?” The blue stitchpunk asked, getting to their feet and looking around. Something felt off, they felt different.

R was on the ground, slowly trying to sit up. “L… something…”

L realized what had happened with a start. The cord. The cord connecting them was slashed in half. They ran over, desperately trying to help them, get them to their feet, SOMETHING. But nothing worked. R wouldn’t get up, they’d stopped moving.

L began to panic. Oh god why wouldn’t they get up everything felt wrong, this felt so wrong something was so wrong someone _help why_ -

L fell.

Sparks of electricity danced across their hands as they lay on the ground next to R. Unmoving.


	22. So Close

Behind a large pile of metal, two stitchpunks watched another, smaller stitchpunk. They looked at each other, one of them definitely more open to say hello to the stranger.

"R, I know that look. We're not gonna go over there, leave that be." The first, L, said. R gave L a sad look, and L sighed.

"R, we can't just trust anythin out here!" They groaned, attempting to keep their voice down. They didn't trust that stranger... even if they were like, half their height. Kind of adorable, but they'd thought that about that cat looking beast, and THAT did not exactly end well. Besides, who made a doll that small?!

"L please, they're so small, how could-" R began.

"Oh NOW you start speaking up." L cut them off. "Every time we try to be NICE, every time you say to go interact with something it ALWAYS goes wrong!! Remember when you saw that weird doll and said 'oh hey, let's check that out', remember what happened!!"

"That was one time, and we got knowledge out of it, not to trust those baby doll things... and weapons!" They reached down bu their feet, picking up a small sewing needle. "We, we have these now!"

L scoffed. "R, you've barely even touched that. Besides, what if it's a trap? There could be enemies on all sides of us, at any moment! We have to take what this place has given us, just stay home and be safe!"

R shook their head, looking back at the strange stitchpunk. They were almost out of sight. "...don't you feel lonely, though?"

"No, I have you, we aren't lonely, we have each other!" L replied, though R could feel a bit of sadness. They were lying, R knew it. Wasn't easy to lie to someone when they can sometimes feel how the liar's feeling.

"But..." R sighed. "Fine... next time, though. Please."

L nodded. "Let's go."

The two walked away, but R paused, looking back towards the stranger as they passed out of sight. There was a number on their back...

12.

Weird.

 


	23. Log 12

I can't do this.

Creator help me I can't do this.

I

I need to leave something.

 

To anyone who may find this, my name is Screw. I don't know when I was made. I barely know who my creator is. I only know that I am created with a very unique function. I'm the Swiss Army Knife of the wasteland.

Anyways, I've run into a... problem. Mostly with the two dolls somewhere in this shelter. You'll find them if they haven't been moved.They're not going to move on their own, of course...

One, by the looks of them, is L, the blue one. The other, the reddish one, is R. They're an unusual pair.

L always twitches. Energy runs through them. I can only manage to safely wake them for a minute. They thrash, scream for R, and eventually either I have to shut them down before they hurt themself, or a circuit breaks. Usually the second happens.

R is a more gentle case. I can wake them for even less time. They blink, mumble about L for a few seconds, then gently shut themselves off. They don't have enough juice in them to function longer, and each time it's for less.

L is breaking themselves at the seams, R is slowly wasting away, I can't win this. I can feel their souls slipping away, on the brink of deaths, getting closer each time I wake them.

They have a cord each on their necks, it's broken and I think I know what to do, but the things needed have all been squirreled away either by other stitchpunks or by beasts.

I can't save them.

Oh creator why did I think I could ever save them. I couldn't save Violet what makes me think i could e **ver sa---**

These blasted pen fingers keep breaking...

I know my creator loved riddles, he kept them in his study so much that I have to assume that. I'll give one to you.

You have a sink, and you have a source.

What do you do?


	24. Needed

The beast stirred, feeling... something. A signal. They needed to work. Needed to complete their programming!

They slowly got to their feet, noting the claws, teeth, fabric covering them. What...

A noise disturbed the silence as a door opened, the beast turning their head to face it. Out came a human. Old. Smiling. Creator! It was their creator! They leapt towards them-

The beast was caught just before they hit the wooden floor. That would have hurt them, banged up their circuits pretty badly. They looked up at their creator, who was saying something. They couldn't understand the words but they felt happy, safe, secure with them. They wanted to protect them. Had to protect them! Needed to protect them!!!

As their creator turned, they caught a glimpse of something in a nearby mirror. It looked like a machine! Something that looked exactly like their creator was holding it, the thing looked like a dog! They knew what a dog was, a dog was a friend, was the strange thing a friend?

Their creator laughed as the beast stared curiously at the mirror, patting their head gently. The beast hummed a little, and the human smiled.

"Guardian." That was something, that was something they recognized, they understood that word! But what did it mean? Was that them?

The beast, their creator called them Guardian possibly, was placed onto the table again, hooked up to a strange thing. Their creator smiled sadly. What was wrong? Was something wrong?

"Stay." Another word they understood! They sat down, humming in happiness. They'd stay. They'd stay as long as their creator needed.

Their creator left the room.

The beast didn't move, though it felt something off. Other signals. It wasn't for them though, not for them. But they listened anyways.

Something about gas? What did the receivers need gas for?

It didn't matter. They'd stay as long as their creator needed. They'd come back soon...

Soon...


	25. Encounter

In all honesty, Screw did not plan to be pinned to a wall by a crossbow bolt in the arm, but apparently that was what was going to happen.

He didn’t quite remember what had happened after 5 minutes ago, but he knew who’d shot him. Some strange stitchpunk, in a white dress and bonnet that reminded him of the old paintings he’d seen in an art gallery. The ones that hadn’t been crushed, at least.

She’d looked… non-hostile when he’d first seen her. He’d been gathering scrap metal and fabrics when the bright white caught his eye. Her expression didn’t change as she lifted a makeshift crossbow from a pocket in her dress and fired a shot into his arm. The bolt, made of metal from what he could see, ended up ripping right through the fabric of his arm, embedding itself, along with his arm, into the wood of a nearby broken beam.

The stitchpunk walked forwards, holding a small blade, and cut away the straps of a backpack Screw was carrying to store whatever he found, and it fell to the ground.

“Hey, why-” A hand was clamped over Screw’s mouth as he was cut off.

“Shut up.” The stranger gave no explanation as she picked up the bag and began walking away.

“Wait, who are you?” Screw called out. The stranger stopped, and turned back to him. She smiled.

“None of your damn business.” And she was gone.

Screw sighed, standing there for a moment. Well, thankfully there’s a solution to this. With a few screws falling to the ground, his arm was detached. With his remaining arm, he yanked it off the wall. Least he didn’t lose it completely, he thought as he gathered the fallen screws. The bolt would be hell to get out if he wanted it, but might as well push it all the way through the arm, it’d save time…

No matter. He needed to get moving.

But who was that stitchpunk?


	26. Loneliness

Deep in the wasteland, there was almost silence. Almost, save for a tiny voice humming to herself.

Inside an abandoned apartment, crumbling around itself, was a room.

The room was filled with small shapes. Tiny, 7-inch tall mannequins. Each dressed in an elaborate dress or suit, with lovely flowing white tresses and sleek black coats. A doll stood at 2 feet tall, towering above the rest with blue eyes and brown curls and bonnet.

There was movement, the origin of the humming. A stitchpunk in a white dress, matching the tall doll almost exactly. She carried with her a backpack with the straps cut, and dumped it in the center of the mass of blank faced puppet-like people. She smiled, and began to dance.

Twirling between the mannequins, humming all the while, she stopped at one, pausing a moment.

“Love, would you like to dance?”

There was no response. It was not alive. It couldn’t speak.

She continued on her way alone, stopping at a few more mannequins and asking them to dance, before coming to the giant doll.

“Maid! I’m home, dear sister!”

No response.

“Ah, not talkative? It’s me, Bride!”

The doll’s head moved slightly from a draft. Bride smiled. 

“I love you too, dear sister.”

She was happy here.

Happy.

Why wouldn’t she be with so many friends? And yet…

She wasn't.  



	27. Shimmering Fabric

Bride smiled, going through the backpack she'd stolen. The one she'd taken it from looked rather strange, their limbs were all connected strangely, like they could detach, strangely enough! Ah, whatever. It wasn't her problem now. She had the bag, and whatever he'd had on him!

She searched through the bag. Oh, lots of fabrics! She smiled. Could use these for lots of patterns, she'd improve her dress, hold more things in there!

Soon she got to the bottom of the bag. Not much of use to her besides fabrics and some screws. But... a pocket was at the bottom of the bag. Something inside it shimmered, and she reached into it.

Out came a piece of indigo fabric, fading into purple halfway through. It had a look unlike anything she'd seen, it was beautiful! It was as if it had scales etched into the fabric! Oh teh things she could do, the things-!

And yet there was a feeling of sadness.

Bride gently placed teh fabric down. This... she should give this back. She shouldn't have taken this, it felt important...

* * *

Screw desperately searched the place he'd been shot at. Oh god, he'd lost it, he'd lost it, did it drop it here, did he-

He saw a scrap of purple. The fabric was tied to a crossbow bolt near the place he'd been pinned at. In the exact same place, actually...

He grabbed the fabric, pausing a moment to calm down. Did... did she take it?

But why did she give it back?


	28. Perfect Prince

Bride smiled. He was perfect.

She'd remembered the strange looking stitchpunk. Remembered his backpack, the fabric she'd given back, his strange looking limbs... and then she had begun to think. He was so different from other stitchpunks, that had to mean something!

Her stories had told her that her perfect prince was different from all the rest. Her perfect prince was kind, clever, and most of all charming. And when she looked at him, unconscious, she saw all that and more.

Of course, there were some adjustments that had to be made.

She'd placed a few items in a small hidden box where no one would find them. They were from him, they were things that made him less than perfect, things that had to go.

She'd placed in this box a pair of hands. He didn't need those anymore, she'd give him all he would ever want or need!

A pair of feet. She'd take him anywhere she'd go, he had no use of those, and they were so unsightly.

Finally, a voicebox. This was the hardest to get, she'd just considered breaking it and leaving it there, but that made this horrible rattling noise, and she just had to take it out! She'd speak for him, he had no need for it!

Bride's expression never changed as she looked down at her sleeping prince, dressed in a lovely suit she'd hand picked from her collection.

The books were right. You always got your prince.

Always.


End file.
